Fatal Fallacy
by xXSoldierXx
Summary: Aravis has seen a body. A grave. She's cried the tears. And yet she cannot believe that he is dead. Never shall she, and so with it comes her surcease of sorrow. Reks x OC centric. M for adult themes.
1. Introduction to Aravis, Part I

**Fatal Fallacy**

A _Final Fantasy XII_ fic

By Sasuke Lover

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**Summary**

A new personality is introduced to the sky pirate party. Having once witnessed her father's death, as well as the deaths of many others, she's convinced that Reks is still alive. After two years, serendipity dies and what once was is one again.

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**Disclaimer**

I do not own Final Fantasy XII or any of its characters, and I would like to let you know that I find disclaimers extremely unnecessary so this is the only time you'll see one…plus they're extremely painful to write…

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**Warning**

This fan fiction doesn't build off of FFXII's ending. It starts with the same scenario presented in the beginning of the game, but this time with the new OC, Aravis. As a warning, I will reveal to you now that she is Ashelia's sister, just so you don't get into it and decide "Oh crap, this sucks" and decide to flame me **–frowns-** They also have brothers in this fic (though deceased).

The first chapter (this one) will be written in a 1st person account, and the rest will be told in third. Future chapters will be told in Aravis' 1st person POV unless said otherwise.

The pairings will include:

Minor ♥_Vaan_♥_Penelo_♥ and the centric pairing will be ♥_Reks_♥_OC_♥

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**Introduction to Aravis**

_I remember it clearly, like it was yesterday, though it happened two years ago. Brother had told me to be strong—to protect my country if one day I wished to rule it. Sister had said the same thing; beautiful Ashelia: the lucky one. Always getting what she wanted. I never forsook her for it—of course I didn't. She was my blood, my family, my friend all in one. _

_I can remember how I fought—my back to the guard as I stood on the gore covered bridge. I held my blade before me, a heavy sword named Kisaki. Those damned Archadians were taking my home. They wanted my father's head. "Take it! I dare you!" I would shout, while plowing my blade through an Archadian's gut. At those moments, the bloodlust was so great. My mouth would water and my heart would race with the need to disembowel. The thoughts were nerve-racking. I would ask myself, 'is this really me?' and I would answer to myself, 'yes.'_

_Of course, that wasn't the only thing that crossed my mind. I would think of my love—my Reks—and how he was somewhere out there, fighting for the same reason as I. I would remember how he had refused to let me fight, and left me in the hands of my lady-in-waiting: a kind and strong viera by the name of Tallulah. Tallulah had not done her job well. Nothing had stopped me from fighting, and so there I was, soaked in blood that was not my own._

_I had slain my last enemy, clearing the bridge, and I ran for Nalbina Fortress where my brothers should have been waiting for me. "Aravis…!" I heard Tallulah call. I turned in time to see my new good brother, Lord Rasler Heios Nabradia, impaled by the fate-sealed tip of an arrow—and then I spotted one plummeting towards _me.

_But something seemed oddly misfit. I was ready to take the arrow and slowly pass from this world. If I were to die—though I really wished not to—I would die with honor. I would die knowing I had fought well, with my country in mind and my sword in hand. Then it happened. Tallulah took the arrow. She leapt before me and took the arrow through the heart._

"TALLULAH…!

"It's _hot_," Aravis muttered, gazing up at the lighted sky and wiping her brow with the back of her hand. She narrowed her eyes, squinting up at the illuminated clouds and silently cursed the sun. Her gaze dropped, intently eyeing the dusty earth beneath her. Flat. Barren. _Dry_.

She sunk back onto the sand, a cushion of tiny heated grains. "Say," she began, eyes glowing with a forlorn sadness. "Wouldn't this be nicer, Rafe, if Reks were here with us?"

The large wolf raised his head, blinking at her as he grunted a deep bark. "Yeah?" she conversed. "I think so, too."

She spread out her arms, a seraph in the sand, soft brown hair fanning out beneath her head; her sensual mouth was frowning and her petite nose inhaling the earth's living aroma. She wore a white sundress that complimented her strong legs.

"I think we should go," she spoke, after several minutes of obscure cloud watching. Not one appealed to her. There was a plump chocobo, she thought, and a brittle flower of cotton. "Vaan must be expecting us." She pushed herself up and rose to her feet, brushing the sand off of her dress. "But first let us see Good Migelo."

The reluctant wolf rose to his feet with another grunt. "Don't be so stubborn," Aravis chided. "Will you come, or no?" Rafe eyed her, irritated, but eventually bobbed his head. "Good then. No use complaining." Aravis set the pace, Rafe following close behind her.

They walked for several minutes before Aravis halted, bending over to pluck the single Galbana lily that sprouted from the sand. "Look, Rafe, my seeds have spread." She smiled—a newly accommodated gesture. Everyone seemed to be getting used to Aravis' smiles once more. Rafe dropped his jaw in a doggy-grin. He knew better than anyone that something must have been right for Aravis to smile. She had not smiled for the longest time.

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Kytes grasped the crate with his hands, though 'lifting with his knees' as Migelo had once instructed him. The morning had just begun and already the sun was high above Rabanastre. His arms ached from the strain and he felt himself growing unsteady as he wobbled from foot to foot under the staggering weight of the large, plated box. 

"Good morning," Vaan greeted with pleasure as he seized the crate from Kytes.

"Good morning," he replied, going immediately at another crate load. "Why are you so jovial this morning?"

"Jovial?" Vaan queried, stacking the crate on top of another that rested against the wall. "Do I sound jovial?"

Kytes shrugged. "You did to me."

Vaan hummed a concentrated, sarcastic sound. "I don't know," he concluded. "I guess today just started out nicely enough."

"Good enough for me." The young orphan sighed, plopping down on a chair. "Where's Aravis?"

"In the Estersands," Vaan replied, continuing to relocate the large boxes. "She was tending to that 'secret garden' of hers."

"A strange girl, that Aravis," wheezed Migelo as he came around back. "Why in Ivalice would anyone plant a Galbana garden in the desert?" A sudden gust of wind caressed Vaan's spine, causing him to shiver. "Come inside, boy." Migelo beckoned the two boys in.

The old Bangaa stood by as the boys settled at a table, Vaan leaning back in his chair. "She just seems to like it there," he answered, balancing on the two back legs. "The Estersands are peaceful, Migelo. She likes to be away from the crowd, is all."

A snort bellowed from Migelo's throat. "Crowd—peace—Ha, anti-social is what it is." He shook his head disapprovingly. "I love the girl," he explained. "She's sweet, she's kind, and she's good to our country, but nineteen and mourning; sounds like a load of raging hormones to me. She sits in the desert everyday, plants Galbanas and talks to a dog. Do you want her to live like that forever? She needs to move on."

Pain echoed in Vaan's ears, a feeling he always got when he thought of his brother. "Maybe," he agreed, but he knew he had to, as well. While not completely, Vaan was progressing at a quicker pace than Aravis', always five paces ahead on the path to recovery. "She's a girl with her head in the clouds. You know, though," he defended, "That _he_ had influenced her the most. Of course it will be _harder_ for her to move on."

"I know, boy." Migelo hung his head. "But that poor girl is so confused. She's not healing right. When he died she took a step down in life and a step up in everything else. She's all backwards."

The chair squalled as Kytes pushed it back, leaping down from it. "I don't know," he added to the conversation, a crimson flush heating his face. "I like her no matter what she does." He balled up his fists, head bowed. "I just miss the old Aravis." He left the shop, an adolescent boy knotted up in his own frustration.

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Only now, looking back, do realize that I had only survived because I fled. I had run, and so my life was spared. All bravery aside; it means nothing if you don't stay to follow through. I curse myself, almost overbearingly so, everyday for my selfishness, and I'm now trying my very best to make right what I had made wrong. 

Unfortunate Tallulah: that beautiful viera. I'll never forget her generosity and her selflessness. As I walk, weaving my way through the Estersands, I'm envious. So envious that everyone can be such a great person, while I can hardly be a bad one.

"_Go," Tallulah told me. "Go to your brothers." She grasped my hand. "Bless your sword and go to your brothers. You play a most important part in this battle. Do not let them take Dalmasca! Do not let them take Nalbina! Do not let them take your kingdom!"_

_I didn't hesitate. I silently blessed my sword and ran like hell was on my heels. I picked my way through the corpses that littered the bridge until I could finally see my brothers ahead of me. _

"_Aravis," Joseph called. "Be quick!" he summoned me and explained that Father's head was on the line. He commanded me to run—fast and fleeting—to the very top of Nalbina Fortress. "To Father's throne!" he commanded. "Find him and protect him, or take him with you! Warn him of the danger that surrounds us! The treatise is a hoax!"_

_I nodded hastily and was on my way with the blessing and luck of my ten brothers. "For the sake of our kingdom," I swore to myself, "I will fulfill my promise to this land! I will _always_ protect my country."_

_I hurried up the stairs. There were many—several thousand. However far it was, I knew that I could make it if I was truly determined. Unfortunately, I felt that I hadn't. I stumbled up the stairs until I finally reached the top. The carpet was littered with blood soaked footprints._

"_I'm too late," I said to myself, but I refused to stop; maybe I wasn't too late after all. I bolted through the halls until I came to a large corridor. _This is it,_ I thought. I dreaded calling Father's name. I feared any silent enemy that lurked around the corner. _

"Such cowardice," I spat to myself, ignoring the questioning glance I received from Rafe. "How could I have been such a fool? Every moment I spent thinking to myself was another inch the blade had dug into my father."

_I swallowed my fear and whimpered, "Father?" No response. Maybe he didn't hear me: "Father?" I called louder. I was tired and scared, so I stepped into the large entrance hall. I pushed at the giant door and it cracked open a bit. I feared what I saw as I peeked inside: the corpses of my soldiers. They littered the ground as the blood soaked footsteps had before. I entered the room, staring with frightened eyes at the bloodied knights on the ground, and then to my dismay, my bloody father on his throne._

I could feel a tear rolling down my cheek and I pursed my lips, licking up the tiny droplet of salt water. I cursed my futile sentiment. I could hear myself and I sounded like a depressed fool. It was embarrassing even to myself.

_I couldn't stand it. I screamed loud and turned away. "Lord, have mercy!" I pleaded. I begged that my eyes were only playing simple tricks but I knew better. The blood was real. My father was dead. As if it wasn't hard enough. A twitch, a moan. I searched the floor with my eyes. Someone was alive._

_My God, if things could have gotten any worse they did at that moment. There on the floor, my only love, my dearest betrothed, Reks. His breath came out ragged and shaking. I wished I could take the pain—I wished I could trade places. "Aravis…" he choked out. _

Rafe and I approached the entrance gates, Archadians guarding it. "Grant me passage," I demanded, surprised that neither of them had argued or commented on Rafe. The giant entry swung open and the market became visible.

Rafe followed me as I bolted over the pavement, running for home as fast as I could. Why was I running? I don't know. Something about the day made me wish I could get home faster.

We slowed down as we entered the larger market, pushing through the foyer and into the Royal City of Rabanastre. "The market sure is busy this morning." The street buzzed with conversation—humes chatting and bangaas shouting. I sighed with odium, my fingers looping through Rafe's studded collar. Peering angrily through the crowd, I seemed to have taken displeasure in the presence of the Imperialists. "_A_ _disgrace_," I hissed. "There's an Archadian at every corner."

Rafe bobbed his head, a low snarl of agreement echoing from his jaw. He was an abnormally large wolf, up to my waist. His legs and torso were padded with muscle—no wolf could outrun Rafael. He was a smart being. In fact, whenever Rafe let loose the warning signal, I knew well to heed and act quickly. That was when a low growl gurgled in his throat. "What is it, boy?" I asked, eyes glancing down at my furry companion. His back arched and he knelt, ready to pounce if necessary. I followed his gaze—an Imperial approached. _Great;_ There was a disappointed frown playing at my lips. _What does he want?_

He continued towards us, stopping only inches from the sentry wolf. He gestured rudely at Rafe. "The _dog_."

"He's not a _dog_," I corrected. "He's a wolf."

"_Exactly_," emphasized the Imperial. "No wolves in Rabanastre. I want him _out_."

The ginger wolf snapped his jaw, letting loose a ferocious snarl. The Imperial recoiled, raising his armored limb in defense. Rafe snorted, a sarcastic sound coming from the mighty beast.

The Archadian cursed under his breath, the fear melting off of him as he flamed angrily; the sound of his fellow Imperials was making him hot with rage. They lingered somewhere behind, laughing discreetly at their cohort. "Your wolf friend needs to be put in his place!" he hollered at me, delivering a mighty punt to Rafe's rib cage.

Rafael whimpered, caught off guard by the assault. I heard myself gasp, dropping to the ground and leaning Rafe's weight against me as he staggered into my chest. I patted his face fervently before looking up at the repulsive knight. "That was low!" I shouted, sliding away from Rafe. He panted, trying to catch his winded breath. "He's _my_ wolf, and I'll keep him! He's never done harm to any of you nasty Imperialists!" Rafe barked in response, suddenly aggressive as he caught his breath.

An elderly woman pushed through the crowd. She nodded to me and my wolf, calling out something unfamiliar. The crowd moved in, separating myself from the knight, pushing us away from one another. Rafe crawled between the legs of the angry humes, slithering his way out of the mob. The rest of the Imperialists came to their feet, suddenly alert and ready to move.

"Go!" I yelled as I shoved through the crowd, the merchants carrying the Archadian away in a sea of hands and dirty faces.

"Not so fast!" another Archadian called after me.

"Come on, Rafe!" I urged, and the dog ducked through my legs, scooping me up and carrying me through the winding streets of Rabanastre. I yipped with excitement, grasping his collar as he horsed me through the royal city.

As we arrived I loosed a victorious hoot, Rafe slowing into a trot, stopping briskly outside of our small cottage. "That's a good boy," I said, leaping from his back, kneeling down beside him to caress his wounded rib. There was no cut, no scratch, but the fact that someone had harmed my ally—it wasn't something that happened often—someone attacking a wolf, I mean. "Are you alright?"

Rafael bobbed his head, grinning widely as a dog does. His tongue hung out lazily—truly a dog at heart. I smiled back, nodding and standing, as she walked slowly to the door of the hut, sliding the key into the hole and twisting the knob. "Let's go, boy," I called to him, and slipped inside.

There was more to the home inside then there was out. It was all that I could afford, considering, and it was all that I would allow myself to spend in the first place. Vaan's things were scattered in the living room, my pack strewn on the sofa. I trudged down the hallway, peering silently into the room on the right—Vaan's room. There was clothes on the floor—all worn and tattered. An urge to clean overcame me and I went in and picked the clothing up, gathering them into a basket that Vaan kept in the corner.

That we even had our own rooms was a step up from Vaan's previous life. The Rabanastre slums was quite an environment—one you can imagine I wasn't used to—but I hadn't minded it after a few weeks.

Smiled to myself, I continued down the hall. Thinking of Vaan made me think of my own brothers. Every one of them was dead—that was unfortunate—but it was nice to have someone there for me. At the moment, Vaan was all I could depend on—even after _two years_.

My room was plain: bare walls and bare floor. I felt myself freeze in the threshold—my heartbeat speeding progressively. A strange pain threaded itself through my veins, pulling and twisting my heartstrings. "_Reks,"_ I unwillingly whispered. Ambling over to the bed, I dropped down on it and closed my eyes. _I miss you_, I thought, nuzzling my face into the pillow. It smelled like my hair. Not even his scent remained. I remembered the times when I would come home late at night, the only comfort left for me being the scent of Reks which lingered on the pillow. Now it was gone.

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**Thanks for reading. Comment Please.**


	2. Introduction to Aravis, Part II

**Fatal Fallacy**

A _Final Fantasy XII_ fic

By Sasuke Lover

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**Summary**

A new personality is introduced to the sky pirate party. Having once witnessed her father's death, as well as the deaths of many others, she's convinced that Reks is still alive. After two years, serendipity dies and what once was is one again.

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**Author's Note**

You'll notice that the first two chapters have been replaced by "Introduction to Aravis, Part I." Basically, because the first two chapters were ridiculously short a piece, I combined them into one chapter. It's not necessary to reread it. This, however, is a completely new chapter. Enjoy.

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**Introduction to Aravis, Part II**

"_Reks…!" I replied, diving to the floor and touching his cold face with my warmer hand. "Reks, don't leave me!" I pleaded, not yet in tears. He smiled, just barely, but a look of terror soon consumed his face. _

_I turned to see the cause of his horror: a man I had mingled with several times before—or so I had thought. Whom I thought was Lord Basch was indeed Judge Gabranth, something I had not known at the time. Reks beckoned me to leave, though I refused. Not until Noah fon Ronsenburg had drawn his sword did I even consider running. I whispered a quick promise that I would be back. Noah would not know that my love was still breathing. Something in me knew that Noah was the man who had murdered my father. _

_He approached me and I fled, running as quickly down as I had up. It was an easy thing to do—to outrun Judge Gabranth. He may have been strong, but in his armor he was slow. In no time at all I was ground level, back to where my brothers had sent me up. They said they would wait…_

_Indeed, they hadn't moved. The only frightful difference was the blood that leaked from their slit throats and impaled stomachs. The terrorized looks on their faces—the faces they had worn to their spiteful deaths._

"_Good brothers!" I cried. Desperation gripped me. Was everyone going to die? My voice hushed and shaking, I whispered, "Does anyone remain for me to love?" I sank to my knees with no other thoughts of the world, for I felt no need to fight any longer. Dropping my sword, the silver clashing against the stone of the bridge, I cried. "Let them be damned!" I cursed. "Let them be damned to hell!" Clenching my fists, I slammed them weakly into the stone. "Let the Archadians _DIE!_"_

_My cries echoed through the valley. I had a list: a list of the deceased. As I lay there, curled up on the stone, tremulous and cold, I specifically remembered each and every death: that of my good brother-in-law Rasler, my lovely lady-in-waiting who was the strong viera Tallulah, my soldiers, my father, and then my ten brothers. I only wondered, "Where is Ashe?" and "How is Reks?"_

Through the window and its tattered curtains, the sun was shining brightly and fell over the dark blanket that covered my sticky body. It was strange though, because I hadn't remembered pulling on a blanket. As my eyes slowly fluttered open, I noticed the note on my make-shift end table (which was truthfully a crate with a board on top), so I picked it up and read silently:

_**Aravis,**_

_**Did you sleep well, despite the nightmares? I didn't wish to wake you because you looked so tired. Find something to eat as soon as you wake. I'll be working at Migelo's with Kytes and Penelo.**_

_**Stay safe,**_

_**Vaan**_

Feeling myself frown slightly, I placed the paper back onto the end table. Vaan was always looking out for me despite the two years I had on him. He had a big heart, I knew, and an even bigger smile. Sliding off of the bed, I walked to the bathroom. It wasn't much of a bathroom, however. It had a tub, a latrine, and a sink, which was more than I could say for the other homes in the Rabanastre Slums, but it was not refurbished. I supposed it was not much only to myself. Stepping up to the sink, I washed my face and mouth. I then bathed, washing away the night's doings of adrenaline and sweat, and raked my hair with a comb, pulling the strands back at the sides.

My reflection was different this morning. My features remained the same; the same nose and the same eyes and the same hair, but my face seemed sunken and my cheeks were thinner. _Excellent_, I thought. _Nothing like a short chance of misery to make you realize food is a necessity. _I would need to eat soon, or perhaps go fight something in the Estersands. I would also need another nap.

Before I left, I searched in the vanity for my hair ornament: a carved wooden butterfly with a hole in each wing. I kissed it gently before I placed it over the strands I had pulled back, and I slid the needle through the holes, holding the butterfly in my hair. "Good morning," I said to it.

As common or tawdry as it may have sounded, it wasn't, really. Reks had bought the hairclip for me once upon a time. It was the gift he had given me when we first met—his self-conscious attempt, as a young street urchin, to woo a young princess who metaphorically had everything already. A symbol of affection it was, but my superstitious conscience had me believing that, somehow, a part of his soul rested with it.

Despite my theatrical weight fluctuation, I disregarded Vaan's request that I find nourishment and left the small house, a pale blouse beneath a tan bodice and pink miniskirt as my dress. The outfit correspondingly resembled what I had last seen my sister in, but the top remained diverse. Though the colors of our hair and the features of our faces were dissimilar, I ill wished the Imperialists to recognize me much further than their reservations allowed.

Rafe was nowhere to be found, so I figured he must've escaped the house and left for the deserts. My metal plated boots clanked against the stone of the ground and I ran warily past the Imperialists, my body tensing as I overlooked the urge to stop and wrangle. If I argued again with a soldier, I would most likely be detained.

Having lost myself several times in the large city of Rabanastre, with all of its ends and plazas, I stumbled unintentionally into the bazaar. Breathing a sigh of dismay, I dropped my head and decided to stay a while. Perhaps I would buy something for Good Migelo and the others. They would need to eat—as well as I. Biting my lower lip I folded my hands behind my back and let my eyes roam over the foods and goods displayed on each Bangaas' cart.

Shopping for Vaan's appetite while on a budget would be a task, but I knew I could probably manage something decent. Bazaars were loose territories for some authentic, old-fashioned bartering.

"Perhaps I could negotiate some term of agreement with you," I spoke softly to a tight-skinned purplish Bangaa. Not meeting his eyes, I sniffed the scents that the dark, steaming meats were emitting. "I'm on a financial statement and buying for a teenaged boy that eats like an urstrix."

A grunt escaped his jaw, echoing low in the throat that probably stretched the width of his thick neck. "Whaddaya got on ya?" Metal scraped softly as he flipped a slab onto the sizzling, oily surface of his grill.

"That's my business, but I'll spend seventy gil, at the most."

After a moment of thought, the Bangaa nodded approvingly. "Sounds like you don't have much gil. You live in the slums, don't ya?" I furrowed my brow and stared at him skeptically. When he realized I wasn't going to answer his tedious question, he shrugged and said, "I'll give you nine slices then, since I've seen you running for Migelo."

Once he packaged the fresh slabs of meat, I nodded gratefully and took them. Upon earlier catching the scent, I realized that they were chocobo, which I thought might have been illegal in some places, but it didn't much matter to me. As long as we had food—edible food—then it would suffice. It wasn't like we hadn't broken the Archadians' law before. "Thank you."

Trying to remember which way Migelo's Sundries was, I continued further into the Bazaar, hoping to finally run into someone I knew—which was ridiculous because I knew absolutely no one outside of Vaan's circle.

My eyes wandered over the landscape to my right as I ducked my head, trying unsuccessfully to see past the carts that stood in my way. Before I could stop myself, I bumped into the back of a green Bangaa. Stumbling back a step, I corrected myself and tightened my grip on the sack of meat. "I'm sorry," I said to the Bangaa, who turned to look at me.

"It's alright," he said, but I was ignoring him. Upon seeing his face, I instantaneously recognized him.

"I'm sorry, sir, do I know you?"

The green Bangaa squinted his eyes at me, trying to read my expression and tell what I was thinking, or trying to remember my face, I figured. I was sure we hadn't met, though. "_Should_ I know you?" he asked me, and I shook my head frivolously.

"No, sir, I don't believe so," I responded. "But I recognize you…as a friend of Reks, am I correct?"

"What would your name be, then?"

Biting my lower lip, I took a moment to try and remember why I had even considered asking him if he had been a friend of Reks. This was leading to delving, and delving especially into the places where I didn't care to go. "My name is Aravis, sir."

Not knowing the dear Bangaas name, I remained silent, hoping the conversation would die and I would be able to leave soon. "Stars and Stones!" he exclaimed. "You'd be the littlest princess of all the Royal City of Rabanastre!"

Jumping lightly, I gestured for the Bangaa to silence himself, placing a hand gently on his arm and hissing an aggressive, "_shh_!" I surveyed the bazaar, my eyes on each of the Archadians that stood watch nearby, every one glancing skeptically at the green Bangaa. A feeling told me that we had narrowly avoided an unnecessary recognition. Perhaps they hadn't heard him over the ruckus. "Dalmasca," I corrected him for before. "That's all of Dalmasca."

Shaking his head, the Bangaa snatched the paper bag from my hands, weighing the cooked chocobo meat. He then nodded approvingly at it and took it into his arms. By this gesture, I assumed he was going to walk me somewhere. "Oh," he sighed. "Sorry; that was my fault! I should really be more careful then, right there, Princess?"

Bowing slightly, I subtly bent my knees. "If you wouldn't mind it," I concluded. Remembering something still, I reminded him kindly not to address me as "princess" while in the presence of Archadians.

"So then you're the one that Reks was lovin' so well?"

We had begun to walk, but at the mention, I ceased abruptly and stared at a fixed point on the cobbles. "He loved me, then?" I asked, almost denying it. This Bangaa had thrown me for a loop with all of his casualties, and how he so easily brought up the dead.

"Well, I would be hopin' so if he was really your betrothed."

Knowing better, I nodded in agreement. "Oh, I know. Please, I pray you forgive me. It just seems so hard to believe something like that after you've not been reminded at all…especially when he wouldn't tell you even as he laid on his deathbed and you stood by his side twenty-four hours of the Dalmascan day. But yes, sir that would have been me."

The Bangaa walked ahead of me despite my halt. Blinking, I gathered my wits about me and jogged lightly until I had caught up with him. "Of course he loved you," he told me softly. "Reks was a good friend of mine, and he spoke of you everyday I saw him. There's no way I'll ever forget the boy, bless his departed soul."

Nodding in agreement, I hummed a sound of approval. "Thank you. I miss him more everyday… You seem less decipherable than I, however. People can always tell when I'm thinking of him."

"May I assume you're headin' to Migelo's Sundries?"

"You may," I confirmed.

He nodded at me and said, "Don't you worry about what that Migelo says, by the way. If I know him, he's probably giving you a hard time about your grief. It's just that I _do_ know him, and he'd be sayin' you were all backwards, but it wouldn't be true. There's nothing wrong with mournin'…even if it has been two years. Death is a natural thing, and mournin' is its natural partner. You would be insensitive if you didn't mourn for Reks. He was your betrothed, after all."

"Right," I said, nodding, though I was a bit spacey. "Thanks." Taking the bag from him, I waved goodbye as we stopped in front of Migelo's Sundries. "I hope to be seeing you again…sir…?"

"My name isn't important now. But we will be seeing more of each other." The Bangaa pressed the bag into my arms and trudged off without another word as I stood there, puzzled.

"Hello over there!"

Looking up from the cobbles, I turned flippantly to see Penelo standing by, her arms folded behind her back and her eyes intelligent and shining. "Good morning, Penelo," I greeted her, smiling sweetly. "Is Vaan here? I brought chocobo."

Lifting an eyebrow, Penelo began to search around. "Did you, really?"

Feeling my face heat up, I shook my head and gestured at the bag. "Meat," I coughed.

At that moment, the look on Penelo's face was a cross between perplexed and appalled. "They sell that for _food_? I never would have thought. Must've been expensive, right?"

Shrugging, I brushed past her and into the shop, seeing past the early morning congestion. "Not like you would think. I bartered at the bazaar." I muttered a few quick pardons and managed my way into the backroom where I found Kytes and Vaan clustered around a round table and leaning back in their chairs. "Shouldn't you two be running errands?" I inquired, dropping the bag on the table. "Chocobo doesn't taste as good if you haven't worked up a sweat."

Kytes grimaced but Vaan's tongue flicked out of his mouth, sweeping swiftly over his upper lip. "Are you kidding me?" he asked. "I'm starving. Bring it out!"

Laughing lightly, I pulled out the packaged meats, placing them on the table before the two boys. "Eat," I said to them, and then to Penelo who had followed me inside. Nine slabs were plenty. "There's a lot and I don't want it to go to waste. Seventy gil pays but if you don't finish this chocobo I'll expect it all back."

"The chocobo?" Vaan asked.

"No, Vaan, the gil," Penelo said with a sigh.

"I knew that," he replied nonchalantly. "It was a joke. Lighten up."

As the three of them ate, I found myself contemplating, lost in my own world. Standing from my chair, I dismissed myself from them and turned slowly, exiting the backroom with a quicker pace. Good Migelo was at the front desk, as I expected him to have been. I realized that I was staring and lowered my gaze before he could turn to look at me.

"Hello there, Aravis. Glad you could make it."

There was pity in his voice. I detested pity. "As am I," I said to him, my voice indifferent as well as my expression. "Good Migelo, please do not have sympathy for a poor working girl."

"Dear child," he said around his busying task. "I do not pity you, if that is what you intend by saying so much. You are an independent, young woman and that takes a lot of courage…and I'm especially proud of you because you prosper despite all you've been through."

Smiling wryly, I thanked him silently yet felt myself protesting inside. I was not prospering. I lived in an un-refurbished cot in the Rabanastre slums and I was slowly rotting in my skin. Having gone through so much only made me more vulnerable, I knew, which would be a very bad thing if the Empire ever discovered me. Reks' death was the hardest thing that I had ever been through, even more so than the solitary death of my family.

_The battle had ended. We were not victorious. _

_Rasler's wounds were mortal. He was comatose for a short while before he passed, widowing my dearest sister, Ashelia. I still mourn for him to this day, even two years later, as I do for my love, Reks. I did come back for him. He was still alive when I arrived. I must say, though, that I was not particularly pleased about having to break the news of his injury to his younger brother, Vaan. _

_Reks was hospitalized—a room with white walls, white floors, white ceiling. The sheets were white, the bed was white, his clothing white as well. There was a single window. That was it. A white vase was on a white end table. Of course it was empty. They wouldn't let me bring him things, but I did anyway. I would bring him a new Galbana lily each day. I knew they were his favorite. I would pick them and replenish his vase each morning, for the nurses disposed of them every night. So much so that I began to plant Galbana lilies, just to anger them. I secretly tended to a small garden in the middle of the Estersands where I knew no one would ham them unjustly, or even expect to find them._

_After a while, Reks no longer spoke. He would sit in that lonely chair and stare out that lonely window, the shifting of the clouds his only real entertainment. I theorized, however, that he _must _have spoke to Vaan, though I wasn't certain. For some odd reason, my love ignored me. Weeks passed like this until finally, his wounds killed him. My love passed from this world and I wept like a banshee._

_Having lost my soldiers and most of my family, my sister, Ashe, and I were left alone to carry the weight of the kingdom on our shoulders. Even this we could not do. Archadia had occupied Dalmasca. I no longer felt safe in the Royal Palace. There was an Imperial at every corner. With every passing day, Sister grew suicidal._

_It wasn't long before the suicide of my sister had been announced by Marquis Ondore, our uncle. All of Dalmasca mourned. With the exception of Uncle Halim, I must have been the only one who knew that she was not dead. My sister had faked her own suicide and assumed the alias: Amalia. _

"_Come with me!" she had once pleaded. "Be dead with me!" she continued, almost too nonchalantly for my appreciation. She subconsciously made fun while I wanted to mourn. I did not go with her. I wished to continue the life I lived. I had something that I needed to do—something I had promised myself._

_Amalia disappeared and did not return. Every now and then I was approached by a shady messenger. He would bring me letters from my dearest sister who told me of her adventures. She would share with me the successes or the failures of the Resistance she had founded. I supported her and her intentions on getting revenge on Archadia._

_I had seen her recently, my dearest Ashe, and have realized that to this day, two years after Rasler's death, she still wears her wedding ring. Bless her soul—I wish that I could bring Rasler back, but I know I cannot. I just wish that she could love again. _

_My obligation left in life; that one thing that I must remain alive to do—I must watch over Vaan. I could never tell him that. Oh, no. He's a stubborn seventeen-year-old, as his brother once was. I find them both extremely charming, however._

_Never, until Dalmasca is mine once more, will I sleep in the Royal Palace. I could not stay after being left alone in this world. I had moved into the old room of my dear love. I sleep every night on the pillow Reks had once slept on. It is a comforting reminder of a past life. I miss him terribly, but I know he's not dead._

_I am Princess Aravis B'nargin Dalmasca_

_This is where my story begins…_


	3. Defraud

**Fatal Fallacy**

A _Final Fantasy XII_ fic

By Soldier

* * *

**Summary**

A new personality is introduced to the sky pirate party. Having once witnessed her father's death, as well as the deaths of many others, she's convinced that Reks is still alive. After two years, serendipity dies and what once was is one again.

* * *

**Author's Note**

It's been quite a while since the last update, but the new school year has started and since I missed the first eleven school days, my time has been put towards a few other things. There's not a lot of other things that I need to get done though, so I thought I'd put my time towards Fatal Fallacy. Also, I would like to thank my alpha-friend, Emsie, who has dedicated countless home rooms and hours worth of visits and telephone conversation to my plot development. Also, while I had my suspicions (someone had told me I was wrong about this) I decided to replay Final Fantasy and discovered that I hadn't just plucked out of thin air that Ashelia did indeed have a plethora of brothers! So yay!

* * *

**Defraud**

I didn't wait much longer after my conversation with Good Migelo to get away from the early morning congestion of his shop. They—being Vaan and he—had always told me that I was not much one for the crowd. I suppose it could have been viewed that way, but I loved to be amongst the hustle and bustle of a busy street. Just…not lately… Either way, I probably wouldn't have stayed. Somehow, I managed to make myself feel offended by Good Migelo's sympathy, denying his words and remaining resolute with the verity that I am, indeed, not prospering.

As I wandered the streets very slowly, my expression relatively plain but for the bemused smile on my face, I began to wonder where Rafe had gone. Well, I knew where he was…but why had he not yet come home to me? Perhaps he had found something to eat and was taking his dear sweet time with hunting it. While slightly more domestic than all of the others, I constantly had to remind myself that Rafe was still a wolf, born to be wild in every sense but one.

Ah, yes, I recalled his earlier years, when he was but a mere pup. Those were some of the better days of my life—when all of my family was still alive, as well as Reks. Would Reks be surprised to see how much Rafe has grown? It was a good question, I thought, though I knew I had digressed and my one-track mind would soon inevitably begin to think about Reks and all of the things that Good Migelo had said.

For the past two years, I had forced on my best smile and had everyone convinced that I was undoubtedly crazy. Well, the crazy bit was unintended, though it was certainly how they had come to look at it. Maybe Migelo was right. Maybe Reks was dead, after all, despite my pleading hopes otherwise. If he were truly alive, would not he have contacted me by now? Two years later and not a word have I heard from him.

Truly, I could not possibly prosper without Reks by my side. The only reason I could come up with at that moment—to why Reks would have faked his death and not kept contact—would have been a growing disinterest in me. Could that be possible? Oh! But that could not be true! He must be dead! He must be! But I could not help but wonder…how would things have been different if Reks were still alive?

For one, we would all be so much happier. I would imagine we would no longer live in the Rabanastre slums, what with another pair of working hands—the strongest pair among us, at that. There is just so much that Reks could contribute to. Maybe we would actually have been able to support our family, that being the both of us plus his brother. Or, of course, we could actually have the typical _woman's_ definition of a family. Lineage, offspring, children. Call it whatever you'd like—it's all the same thing.

On the occurrence that I am so repeatedly told to keep my hopes optimistic, I have forced myself to believe that Reks really must be alive! How is it that everyone now defies this notion? All of these jumbled emotions—ooh! It frustrates me.

Then, rather unexpectedly, across the Rabanastran plaza did I spot the glowing apparition of my long deceased Reks. Scoffing only slightly, I bowed my head and shook it defiantly. This was most certainly not the first time I had seen that very same wraithlike specter. It was but the fifth time this week if I had counted accurately. It was merely my mind playing tricks on me.

However, I had no quandary with this new state of mentality. If my mind chose to discern Reks from every which place I went, and did so solely to mollify itself, then so be it, I decided. I would appease it, so I glanced back up at the apparition, starting reluctantly in its direction. I feared that if I came to close, it would disappear—or maybe it would become real.

For a while longer, I continued to pursue the apparition. I hadn't anticipated for it to stay quite so long. I was almost beginning to forget that it was, in truth, merely a figment of my overactive imagination. I gave way to my tedious sentiment—actually _believed_ that the Reks I saw before me was real.

By the time I had realized that it was, indeed, not real, I had already chased the Reks-apparition into a dark, Rabanastran alleyway. It was not until my heart began to race that the fear began to consume me. This mistake could be my last, I realized, as it became very clear that everything I ever worked to accomplish would soon be for naught.

I could hear shouting as I approached the mouth of the alleyway. An Archadian turned the corner. If he attacked me, I felt I could hold my own, until another two came into the alley and put me against the wall. I shouted, kicking at the Imperialists as they pinned me to the bricks and detained me with their gray iron shackles.

Over their shoulders, I watched as the apparition dispersed entirely. All of my fears seemed to have been confirmed. Yet again, I had been fooled—I could not accept that Reks was dead—and so I gave up all hope that he was alive.

* * *

I gathered whatever integrity I had left before fronting the Imperialist. "Let me go!" I shouted, snapping my teeth at the guard left with me. After the Imperialists had detained me in the alleyway, I was blindfolded and dragged away to this nameless location. I wasn't quite positive of where we were, but my best guess was Nalbina. I had never been to this part of the fortress in my father's reign as King.

Minutes passed before he turned to me and shrugged. "And why would you be so special? There are thousands of prisoners here who all demand the same thing. Why would you be any more privileged than they?" I noted by the word 'prisoners' that my assumption must have been correct. I was not the only captive here, so at least I knew that I had been arrested, rather than abducted.

It seemed obvious to me, more than anything, that he misjudged my supremacy to his. If my hands were free, I would demonstrate what power a woman of my stature could possess. "Because I am your princess, and as soon as word reaches the Royal City that you have done this, then the Rabanastrans will be most disappointed. You'll regret it once I hang _you_ up in one of those nasty cages."

Pacing, the metal-clad soldier turned his helmeted head towards me. "Dalmasca is ours for the taking. Face it, princess. We've occupied it and we roam your palace. All that stands between us and this country is you…and that should easily be taken care of." Metal scraped against metal and a hollow chime rung out into the air as he drew his sword from his belt. "Your whole army of _peasants_ doesn't stand a chance against us."

Jaw clenched, I bit back the urge to lash out at the spiteful Archadian. The best I could have managed would have been a maladroit lunge with my hands fixed and my feet tucked beneath me. My army did not consist of peasants. Peasants they may have been, but that was an undeserving title. They were loyal subjects to the Dalmasca family. I would not let him insult them. "Kill me, I dare you," I challenged casually. "But even if you do, Dalmasca will always be mine. My kingdom may be subjugated by you wretched Imperialists, but the Gods smile upon the Dalmascan family and as soon as I am departed, you will know."

A large, bellowing laugh escaped the Imperial and I reeled back with revulsion. His etiquette was puerile. "Silence yourself! That was no joke—my sister would—!" I tried to argue, before remembering that my sister was ostensibly "dead." I'm sure I was making a fool of myself before this spiteful Archadian. He knew nothing, and yet _I _was the one that ended up looking insane.

"_Whom_, exactly?—your long-dead sister? Are you next going to tell me that your ten dead brothers shall hunt me whilst I sleep?"

Jerking stubbornly at the cuffs that bound my hands, I snarled irritably. "I'll laugh whilst you execute me—believe me when I say I will grin madly. But, do remember—as my last will and testament—that once you slaughter me, Marquis Ondore is to be notified…and he _shall_ inform all of Dalmasca. As long as this kingdom shares my name, it will forever belong to my family."

Curiosity buzzed inside of me at the continuous stalling between his responses. "Right," he finally scoffed at me. "Because you are the sole survivor of the Royal Family, Dalmasca—the last living heir with this kingdom as your birthright—and you fight with an army of gofers! How mighty you are to suppose you could shred me with your ethereal karma!"

His words were more poetic than threatening, and yet he scared me so. So maybe that was all that authority was—poetry in the form of power. My eyes closed, preventing the tears that would betray me as weak. I was proud that this was only the first time I had come close to tears, and I was able to hold them back with that pride, not wanting to defile my new show of strength.

"Once you are dead, there will be no Dalmasca with the right to rule your kingdom. How do you suppose that will save this country? How do you suppose it will belong to your family then?"

There was one Dalmasca who could rule. There was one Dalmasca that remained. Imperialist he may have been, but I wanted more than anything to rave of how Ashelia still lived, and how she would overthrow the Archadians with her resistance. She would slay him with my sword, only to place his head on my grave.

Audibly puffing out a frivolous breath, I smirked and weakly shrugged my shoulders. I said, "Fine. You'll have it your way…but I do not lie about…_karma_," I mocked him. Poetry _was_ powerful.

It looked as if the guard were about to respond, but there was a short rapping on the door and he turned to unlock it. Another two Archadian Imperialists stood before him, and they quietly exchanged a few quick words. Before I could ask—or rather demand—to know, the two of them entered the room and grabbed either of my arms, jerking me to my feet. "Blindfold," the one Archadian reminded his cohort, and I watched with dismay as he pulled a strip of black cloth from his belt.

Once outside of the room, I could feel the humidity trapped within the stone-laid walls. The rain beat against the rock-strewn exterior of the structure—the sound unmistakable. Despite my imprisonment, I was glad that the drought had ended—it was a promising sign for the citizens back in Rabanastre.

* * *

Leaning against the cold stone of his prison cell, Blade stared straight ahead into the identical one across from him. It was difficult to scratch tick-marks into the stone, and so he had already lost count of the days. It didn't really matter anymore—he had the potential to escape, but not the motive to. Regardless of how long he had been there, it was most certainly long enough. They would kill him soon.

Blade hated it when it rained—he had always hated it. It was just that uncomfortable, moistened feeling he got on his skin—he had no desire for it, especially when in the dirty, exposed prison. Combined with the monotony of his Nalbina reformatory cell, everyday in confinement was more lackluster than the very last.

It seemed the Imperialists had a fun time patenting new ways to make miserable their prisoners. The courtyard was bordered by high baileys on all four sides, a stone scaffold in the northwestern corner. The stairs ran down it into the verdant courtyard (which took up a bit more than one fourth of the entire enclosure). Adjacent prison cells occupied the other end of the court, two pairs facing each other on either end of the road which connected the courtyard to the terrace. For the more major cases, another pair of adjacent cells was hidden somewhere in the area on the other side of the wall, north of Blade's cell and east of the scaffold. The entirety of the structure was beautiful, which made Blade loathe it even more for the irony it possessed.

Curses and grunts traveled to his cell where he listened only half-heartedly. The Imperialists had brought in yet another convict, and from the sounds he was hearing, it must have been a young woman. Snorting softly, he shook his head and pressed himself further up against the stone. It was a new low even for the Archadians.

A loud crack rung out, followed by a scream, that echoed off of the dampened walls—barely heard over the roar of the rain. An Imperialist rushed down the terrace path, stopping at the cell across from Blade's, and shoving his skeleton key into the hole of the lock. Yanking the key back out, he slid the barred door open and made room for the next guard to toss the woman into the cell. It slammed shut with an aggressive shove and the guard who had tossed her in wiped at his hands, as if glad to have her gone.

The two laughed for a long moment before both heading out towards the terrace. The woman's back was to Blade and she was on her hands and knees, scrambling blindly in the cell. She tangled herself slightly before yanking at the manacles on her hands. She let out a sort of sob as she turned herself around and began to pull at the blindfold shielding her eyes.

Her cheek was red and Blade quickly recalled the earlier crack. His brow furrowed and he sat up, a bit more interested in this new convict. But as his eyes fell upon her face—though blindfolded it was—a strange feeling overcame him. He knew who this was—everyone should have. Shuffling around in his cell, he grasped the mask in the corner and slid it over his face, pulling the hood of his cloak on over his head.

Blade's brow furrowed further. It was pitiful—though not in a condescending way. He felt bad—very bad—that Aravis Dalmasca had to be exposed to such ill-treatment. Everyone in the Nalbina prisons was underfed and confined for long periods of time. The Imperialists didn't believe in imprisonment "for life." They didn't have enough patience for that. It was either, "until further notice," or, "until the gallows is vacant." That was most likely what it was, too. Blade couldn't imagine why they would suddenly stray from tradition.

Laughing bitterly, Aravis continued to pull the blindfold off, tossing it onto the floor. She tousled her hair and then smoothed it down, leaning back against the wall. She stared, not unnerved, at the man in the cell across from hers. He was dressed in a dark hooded cloak, his face entirely covered by the plain mask which he wore.

From where Aravis sat in the corner, there was really nothing spectacular to behold. She was certain from the sounds that there was a roof overhead, and yet the rainwater had slicked over the cobbles between her cell and the man's. She began to bunch up the hay and shoved it towards the prison bars, packing it beneath them.

Behind the pale wooden mask, Blade's stare was quizzical. Despite his silent motives, he called out to the girl. "What are you doing?" he asked her, his voice hard and loud to overcome the rain's loud pounding.

Shoulder's tensing, Aravis glanced up and grinned morbidly at him. "I'm keeping the rainwater out. I've never been quite partial to weather like this in an environment so sadist. I'd prefer to keep the floor dry."

Blade snorted, crossing his arms and continuing to watch the girl as she resumed her work.

"My name is Aravis, by the way…Just in case you'd like to know."

"Yes, I know," Blade responded, his voice hard. Silence ensued for yet another curiously long moment and, by then, Aravis had finished blocking up her cell and was sitting against the wall, much like the man across from her.

Sarcastically, she said, "You know, traditionally, this would be a great opportunity for you to tell me your name."

More silence. After staring at her for quite some time, Blade considered responding and eventually told her to address him as "Blade." It wasn't a believable name—he could tell from the look that Aravis gave him that she wasn't buying the pseudonym, but it was a good enough name for him, so why shouldn't it be good enough for her?

Scrutinizing Aravis—particularly her exposed skin—to check for any open, bleeding wounds or discoloring contusions, his voice softened. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

A bit surprised by the considerate query, Aravis raised her eyebrows and leaned back. "I—I wouldn't think so…" she stuttered, looking down at herself and checking for any numbed wounds she might not have felt. Her legs certainly felt paralyzed, but she noted that they were most likely just chilled from the ice cold stones on which she sat. "No, I don't think I am," she decided finally. "Thank you."

There was no response from Blade after that. He merely turned his head away and sat in complete silence. Aravis frowned, her eyes sad as they roamed over his body—almost a bit longingly. What was this sudden physical attraction she was feeling? She hadn't known this man for five minutes, nor had she seen his face or learned his name—his real name at least. How could you trust a person you knew so little about, let alone wish to be held by him?

Turning away herself, Aravis curled up in the corner of the cell and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. She was so tired and could hardly remember the last time she had gone to bed. Had it been the previous night? Regardless, it didn't take much longer than ten minutes before her body had finally acclimatized to the cold floor and the pain in her side, and sleep had finally found her.

All day and night, she had seen Reks' face in her dreams, heard him and the things he had said in his time alive. "Fairy Princess," she could hear him saying teasingly, a mocking pet name he had given her. It had at first been a joke, but had come to hold more and more affection as their relationship progressed—as he had changed it to "_My _Fairy Princess" once he had begun to realize that she was in love with him and he in love with her.

Even as Aravis found quiet, peaceful sleep throughout the rest of the day and night, Blade remained awake, watching her inquisitorially. If he listened closely enough, he could hear her whispering silently. What was it he had heard? "Fairy Princess" was what it sounded like. He would smirk at this, a bit bemused.

In the late hours of her second day in the cell, Aravis awoke to cold and dark. She yawned silently, covering her mouth, and pushed herself up, falling back against the wall. Blade was pressed into the corner, his mask still on and his demeanor still dark and foreboding. "You talk in your sleep," he muttered.

Smiling sadly, Aravis had to disagree. "No, I don't usually. I've just had a lot on my mind lately, but…I guess he's always on my mind."

Leaning forward, Blade tilted his head slightly and sat wordlessly, as if expecting her to continue. When she did not, he asked, "Whom do you mean by 'he?'"

Exhaling an abrupt laugh, Aravis shook her head. "I don't suppose it would mean much if I told you. It's not as if you know him."

Crossing his arms, Blade said, "You might be surprised. I've been all over Ivalice—a veteran of a few different wars fighting to protect you and your country, Princess Aravis."

Straightening up rather hurriedly, Aravis' face portrayed her curiosity. "So then you know who I am…? I didn't think I was recognizable." It was true that Aravis had not announced herself publicly since the death of her father. She had never given anyone the opportunity to match name with face, but if he were truly a veteran and he truly knew who she was, perhaps he had fought in the same battle as Reks. "God bless you then, sir. What about the battle at Nalbina Fortress?—our attempt to prevent my father from signing our unconditional surrender? Did you fight in _that_ war?"

After she had asked, Aravis slowly began to regret it. She realized that the last thing she wanted was to talk about Reks in a place such as this. She was about to shout at Blade, to beg him not to answer that question, for fear that she would go insane by his response. All of this said, she finally decided against it as he nodded slowly. "I did," he acknowledged, and waited for her response to his confession.

Knuckles whitening, Aravis bit her lip and nodded slowly. "Did you know Captain Basch?" Blade replied in much the same way. "Oh God," Aravis muttered, bringing her knees to her chest and shaking her head. Tears were coursing down her face and she knew that it was too late to take back what she had said. "Then you must have known him," she said, steeling her voice. It was too dark for him to have seen the tears. Maybe he didn't know. "You knew Reks?"

Blade hesitated for a moment before responding. Recalling a face—a name—he nodded again. "So Reks is the one you've been dreaming of."

Passion enveloped Aravis mercilessly. The sadness she was experiencing was tremendously overwhelming, especially next to the anger that proceeded, welling up in her breast and threatening to explode at any moments notice.

Clenching her jaw, Aravis nodded. "I was…" she admitted, before squeezing her eyes shut and exploding, sobs racking her body. The air about her suddenly shifted, the sympathy enveloped by a false hate. "Why the hell did he do it?" she moaned, turning away from Blade, glaring at the floor. "It just wasn't fair. He just had to join the military—Vaan and I weren't enough for him… He was everything to us both, and now he's gone!" Though her mien was not angry, she seethed inside for another moment, trying her hardest to stop herself from saying what she knew was untrue, but there are just those times. "I hate him for it…I hate him…"

Blade cocked an eyebrow beneath the mask, pressing himself against the wall. Thoughts swarmed in his head. As Aravis slumped onto the floor, sobbing in broken hiccups, he pitied her—he pitied Reks. Obviously, the princess had long since suffered the grief of her betrothed's death. He had left her scarred and longing for his touch, and now she was finally feeling the pressure of that longing—finally feeling the tension as it snapped, dragging her psyche along the way. However, her tears and her pounding slowly became and seemed more angry than sad. He was almost frightened by her animosity.

_Poor, pitiable child…_

* * *

A week had passed and the Imperials had shown no signs of letting Aravis go free. Over the grueling hours of silence, boredom, and pain, she had felt more and more feverish as the days progressed, leaving her weak with a broken will. Very little words had been exchanged between her and the man called Blade since her first night in Nalbina. There seemed to have been a growing awkwardness between them and she resented having ever asked him about Reks.

Glancing up at him in the cell across from hers, Aravis saw him shift uncomfortably, as if something were bothering him. She didn't think it could be her, and when she went to call out to him, he held a silencing hand up. "Shh, shh," he hissed, over and over again until she pressed herself to the wall and shut her mouth as demanded of her. There was cruel laughter and an echo of several pairs of feet on stone as the guards clanked down the terrace connector.

Biting her lip, Aravis shrank further into the corner of her shadowed cell, knowing exactly why Blade was in a fuss for her silence. They were finally coming for her. Her breath quickened and she wondered—after an entire week of longing for the release death might provide—was she really willing to go? Or was she simply fooling herself into believing death was the paradise she had always dreamed of?

"'Ello, Princess," one of the guards gritted bitterly to her. "Did you ever picture you'd die like this?"

Aravis had to bite her lower lip to keep it from trembling as the second guard yanked his key out of the lock and threw the gate open. "Aren't you just the lucky ducky," he grunted caustically, his expression disgusted by the mere sight of Aravis. Despite his obvious reluctance, he made his way around the pile of soppy hay and jerked Aravis up by her manacles. She let out a pained cry as the rough metal pressed into her raw wrists. "Vayne's ordered you sent to death by treason."

Even as she was yanked to her feet, Aravis' mouth dropped open and she glared at the two men past her pained whimpers. "That's ridiculous! What happened to due process? This country used to be just and fa—!" The first guard sent his hand flying across her face twice, drawing a shocked expression from her as both of her cheeks flushed a bright pink. She was still for several moments before closing her mouth and bowing her head, tears running down her face and stinging her skin.

The men nodded at each other and proceeded, jerking her chains more violently. She stumbled over the chains and tripped over her own feet, the metal plating on her boots scraping and clanking against the stony pathway. She bit her tongue and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to make any sounds at the pain she was feeling.

Aravis had made up her mind. She knew precisely how she would make amends for the short and flawed life she had lived thus far.

The light of the courtyard was surprising as they left the shade of the roofed reformatory. It cut through her like fire to a forest and she cringed, screwing her eyes shut even more tightly. But the light penetrated her bruised lids and she felt fresh tears slide down her face as her eyes watered.

She didn't dare open her eyes but she could feel fresh drafts of clean, unsullied air. The surface beneath her feet was no longer hard stone, or mud, or even dry dirt. It ruffled beneath her, and whispered to her when the wind caressed it, or even her boots. _Grass…_ she thought longingly, feeling silly. How much she had missed grass, of all things.

Then, the guards hands left her chains. Instead, she felt one pair grasp her right arm, then the other grasp her left, as they lifted her and hefted her up onto the first step. Hollow wood echoed beneath her feet and she cringed at the jolt of pain it sent up her legs. Then they did it again. Once, twice, three times, until they were finally settled.

The light shining through her eyelids had lessened considerably, and Aravis dared to open her eyes—if not very slowly. Water coursed down her face as her lids separated. It still stung, causing her to squint, but it was beautiful. The epitome of beauty, in fact, which made her sad. Was this what the Imperials had intended? They wanted those who had finally given up on life to long for it when their time had come at the gallows? _That makes me sick…_ she thought morbidly, but stared up to the sky as the two guards fastened a noose around her neck.

The rope was coarse, and made her itch around her shoulders, but she closed her eyes and held them shut, trying to ignore the urge to tug at it. She could hear her chains being rattled as the guards linked together her manacles with the cuffs which bound her feet. "Please, God…" she began to murmur softly, as the guards pulled away.

They didn't object with her prayers and she wondered if they were feeling a bit sorry for her. "I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry that I couldn't save him…."

* * *

Blade pushed against the stone, his head by the bars of his cell. He couldn't see anything that was happening in the courtyard, but he could hear everything. It wasn't difficult with the complete, smothering silence. The sounds were carried to him on the wind, and with the darkness he was so accustomed to, his ears had become his greatest strength.

He could hear chains rattling, and then hollow thuds on what he knew were the stairs of the scaffold. Then there was more rattling, and chinking, which painted a clear picture in his head. He had actually seen this happening on his first day in the prisons. They were linking her chains together in preparation for her hanging.

Wind rustled the leaves on the trees and he could hear the grass whistling. Then, above the light bristling, he could hear her voice as clearly as if she were sitting right across from him…or perhaps if she were standing right beside him. Maybe even whispering in his ear.

"I'm so sorry…I'm so sorry that I couldn't save him…." he heard, and blinked. "I never meant to say those things. I don't hate him. I don't hate you, Reks. I love you so much…and I'm so sorry that I was too late. I'm sorry that I came two minutes too late. I'm so sorry that I didn't try harder—to reach out to you when you needed me… I should've talked more when you didn't talk back…I should've brought two flowers instead of one… I should have cried twice as many tears at your funeral!" Her flowing, slurring words ceased as a sob escaped her. "Please, God, forgive me for not saving him…"

"…It was never your fault…"

* * *

**Next Time on Fatal Fallacy:**

**Just when she thought all of her troubles were over—when she knew she would be released by death—Blade decides to interfere…but why, Blade? Why? Tune in next time to find out in: The Great Escape!**


	4. The Great Escape!

**Fatal Fallacy**

A _Final Fantasy XII_ fic

By Soldier

* * *

**Summary**

A new personality is introduced to the sky pirate party. Having once witnessed her father's death, as well as the deaths of many others, she's convinced that Reks is still alive. After two years, serendipity dies and what once was is one again.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I realized last chapter I signed my name "Soldier" without explaining, but I had started that chapter when I had changed my penname. Rest assured, Soldier and Sasuke Lover are the same person! Anyway, this update took much longer than the last. I blame only myself, in that I had spent most of my time on an update for another fic. That was a hit…much more so than Fatal Fallacy. But that's either because everyone hates my story or it's just not that popular of a fandom…either way, I have hits to chapter two and three so obviously some people have been reading on… They just don't like to review… I hope you enjoyed the last chapter and I so hope you'll enjoy this one, too.

Note: The chapter is a little rushed towards the end. Sorry about that :(

* * *

**The Great Escape!**

Sighing once, twice, and then finally three times, Blade decided he could no longer take the pressure. The girl has been babbling on for almost three minutes now and the guards still hadn't hurried and pulled the lever. What was bugging him so much about it though? Was it really his annoyance or rather his sympathy for the poor, pitiable princess? But he couldn't help but feel somewhat compassionate. He thought he might be considered cold if he hadn't felt some form of commiseration.

Glancing stubbornly at the floor of his cell, he sat there in silence, as the princess silenced herself as well. Tension seemed to grow in the air—was it hers as well, or merely his own? It was a feeling he knew well—a life was about to end. Then, with one last hesitant exhalation, he clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it onto the stone section of wall beside him. "What a nuisance," Blade snarled, giving-in to his own resolve. He had sworn he was going to remain as unnoticed as possible while in Nalbina. He wanted his reputation to remain…free of any potential threat.

But at the same time, as he stood from the floor and wrapped his fingers around the bars of his cell, he couldn't help but think and say aloud, "I should've done this a long time ago…" Taking a deep breath, he pressed himself as close to the bars as possible. "Runaway!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Some one is getting away! Fugitive! Help!"

As the words left his lips, footsteps thundered on the cobbles of the terrace, even as the rain poured and threatened to drown them out. "Where's the fugitive?" they called, to who they believed had been their fellow guard. "Where did the fugitive go?!" Two passed by his cell, one after the other with little space in between. He waited patiently. He knew he had picked up on three distinctive steps. And then the third came.

His arms shot out between the bars and he grasped onto the last guard's armor. Said guard cried out with surprise, thrashing at Blade, but he grunted angrily and yanked at the guard, slamming him against the bars. The sentry continued to struggle against him so he slammed him against the bars a second time, then a third time, and a fourth time, over and over until the armor-clad Imperial went limp and sunk to the floor against the bars of the cell.

Dropping to his knees, Blade reached between the bars and grasped the guard's key ring, looped unsuspectingly around his belt. With a few violent jerks, the key was ripped from his belt and he took it, putting it to good use as he unlocked his cell and slid the bars to the side. Blade loomed over the sentry, a hate-filled glare in his eyes behind the mask. Crouching down, he unhooked the sheath from his belt and transferred it to his own.

There was great fuss and argument coming from the courtyard and Blade leapt quickly to his feet, kicking the unconscious guard in his helmeted-head before giving chase to the two Imperials he had earlier fooled. The guards who had earlier dragged Aravis onto the scaffold were still positioned on said platform, shouting down at the two guards on the wet and grassy field.

The looks on their faces! Oh, they were quite terrified as they saw Blade coming up on the two unsuspecting sentries. With a mighty cry, he drew the sword from his belt and slashed through the first's neck, following through with a lower blow to the second. The two guards went limp and collapsed to the ground in a spray of blood, splattering Blade's mask and painting it red. The dark stains were hard to see over the black fabric of his cloak.

Eyes wide at having witnessed the murder of their comrades, the two scaffold guards leapt off of the platform and drew their swords, charging at Blade. The masked man tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword, bending his knees and lunging at them. Blows were exchanged as the first guard clashed his sword against Blade's. The second came around from behind, though Blade parried the blow at the last moment, sending the two guards colliding into each other.

Ducking around them, Blade stumbled towards the stairs of the scaffold, thundering up them and dashing towards Aravis, who had been watching in silent astonishment the entire time. There was still distance between them, and as Blade took another large stride towards her, a hand closed around the fabric of his cloak and yanked as hard as its owner could muster.

Blade stumbled backward, slipping on the slick wood and falling painfully onto his back. He groaned, irritated, and held his sword up as the second guard brought his own down to meet it. The three of them clashed, metal ringing in the empty air but dampened by the pattering rain.

Aravis' mouth had been hanging open in astonishment, her eyes wide and shimmering from tears. Her hair was clinging to her face and her clothes were soaked through, her blouse pale and translucent where it clung to her skin. "Blade, what are you doing?!" she cried.

Blade's sword met the first guard's yet again, but the force passed through this last blow sent a ringing, painful tremor up his arm to his elbow. He cursed and dropped the sword, which spun across the deck of the scaffold and halted a few feet from Aravis. She stared at it, but then back to Blade as the guards, too, had their swords robbed from one another.

They tackled one another, the two guards ganging against the weakened Blade. "Stop it!" Aravis shouted at them, not sure what her pleas would do in the meantime, but almost certain in the end, they would amount to nothing. Suddenly, the second guard separated himself from the others and gave a cry, running at them and throwing himself against the both of them, including his comrade.

Blade and the first guard both cried out, though Blade's originated from surprise of unbalance, and the guard's was that of victory. But as the three fell towards the floor of the scaffold, Blade reversed their positions, putting the guard beneath him to break his fall. They crashed onto the ground, and the second guard went tumbling off the top of the pile.

Meanwhile, the first guard grabbed Blade by the hair and slammed his face into the floor of the scaffold. There was a shattering crack as the wood of his mask split and he cried out, bucking at the guard and tearing the broken mask off of his face.

Before Aravis could find words for her exclamation of horror, the tumbling guard rammed into the lever on the scaffold. Aravis gasped, holding her breath as a loud clank rang out beneath her. Her eyes squeezed shut. She could hear Blade calling out. "No!" he erupted, and she half expected to feel herself drop through the floor with pain, or dangling from the scaffold and flopping around.

And she did feel the tug of the noose as the floor went crooked beneath her. Her hands instinctively shot up to grasp the tightened rope about her neck, jerking at her feet. But there was no sinking feeling, no rush of air, no _tremendous_ pain, and she could still feel a hard, substantial surface beneath her dancing feet as she struggled to scramble up the slanted surface.

Gurgling at the suffocation, she forced an eye open half way and glanced around, fingers still tightening around the rope. Blade was struggling to push the first guard—who had leapt on to him—off, so he could get to Aravis, or at least the lever the other guard had fallen onto.

While Aravis could feel the scaffold beneath her, she realized half of the door had become jammed, and would not entirely fall open. She tugged at the rope and struggled to climb further up the door of the platform to stay level, though the rain water caused her to slip over and over again, only putting more pressure on her as the rope jerked constantly at her neck.

Darkness swam in her vision and she dared to close her eyes, but when she opened them again, she could see a figure darting at one of the swords on the ground. Aravis let out a choked gasp as her lungs began to burn more intensely. Her vision was blurred by rain and tears, but she knew it was Blade, even if she couldn't quite see him. The blade glinted in the light as its wielder swung it around, catching one of the guards across the cheek.

A cry rang out over the rain and Blade dashed toward Aravis, sword poised high above his head. She cringed and closed her eyes again, hearing a hiss and a snap as the sword sliced through the rope. The dropping feeling finally caught up with her, but she could then feel Blade's arms around her waist as he threw his weight at her, knocking her off of the jammed door.

All noise ceased in her ears, and all things were numb to her but the feeling of the hard wood as she and Blade crashed onto the scaffold. The jolt seemed to have been enough to knock loose the jammed door and it fell open, sending shivers up Aravis' spine. To think what might have happened if someone had fallen just hard enough while she was still hooked up there.

Daring to open her eyes—still feeling feverish and afraid of the light—she cracked open both of her lids. Her vision was still blurred, but with Blade looming over her—with Blade looming directly above her face—she stared up into his dark eyes, clearer than they had ever been. They were familiar eyes. Eyes that were no longer hidden—nor were they masked. "Are you alright? Aravis, answer me, come on …answer me, damn it."

Her own eyes were wide and tear-filled. "I'm dead…" she whimpered. There was no other explanation. Why else would she be seeing Reks—feeling Reks? She had to have died and gone to wherever he was. She must have fallen through the door after all. She must have died from suffocation…but his face was littered with cuts from the shattered mask… "I'm dead…" she whimpered again, and she could feel Reks sliding the noose off of her.

His expression was bitter. "At least you said something…" he murmured caustically. He might have been happier if she hadn't gone into some state of involuntary catharsis…he might have been happier if she would have moved so they wouldn't get killed or recaptured. "Come on, Aravis. You're not dead! Get up so we can go!"

While in her emotional limbo, Aravis was still able to see Reks, who had looked back over his shoulder. He cursed lowly and rolled off of her, and from that point on there were only sounds. She shut her eyes to the rain, feeling the thuds reverberate through the floor of the scaffold as swords clashed with armor and armor with swords.

Finally, there were two simultaneous cries of pain and respective thuds to accompany them.

Once more, Reks loomed over her, his eyes boring into her closed ones. "Aravis, _please!_ I need you to get up so we can go! We need to get out of here or we'll die for certain…"

"No…I'm dead…I'm dead…I'm already dead…"

Frustration overwhelmed Reks and he snarled irritably, his fists clenching more tightly. "Damn it, Aravis. For God's sake, you're not dead! Get up and look at me!" When she didn't move, he grasped her arms and sat her up on his own, holding her face in his hands. "Hey, Aravis, look at me, please," he murmured, his tone less harsh. "You're alive. Do you hear me? You're _alive_."

Eyes fluttering open ever so slowly, tears streamed down her face and blended with the rain. Aravis could see her betrothed's face, full of worry, concern, joy…all of the most primal emotions as he leaned forward and kissed her lips, drawing her breath from her.

Forcing herself to breathe once he had parted from her, she struggled to her feet with his assistance, still not sure what to believe. _For now…_ she thought. _Just pretend…if this really is a dream…if you really are dead…what's the harm in playing along with it?_

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled her down the stairs of the scaffold as they shuffled through the grassy field. "That's more like it," he murmured, satisfied, and the two of them managed to escape the courtyard with relative ease as they cut across, zipping past their former cells. "I don't even hesitate to say I won't miss this place."

They hugged the walls of the terrace. They were running for about five minutes before they became noticed. "Keep running!" Reks shouted, as the guards gave chase. Aravis' legs were numb and her head was feverish and pounding as they pumped through the Nalbina courtyard. It took everything she had to keep going… But they were finally to the gate which was winding shut. "Keep running!" Reks shouted again, though Aravis was rather reluctant to.

Beyond the gate was a steep, grassy hillside. She hadn't realized they were perched on elevated ground, but it began to make sense to her when she remembered how all of the water had seemed to flood down the terrace path. She screwed up her face and shook her head. "Come on, Aravis," Reks insisted encouragingly, though his words were rushed and impatient. "If we slip we slip but breaking a few bones is better than going through that hell again, isn't it?"

As soon as she nodded, he took off, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Aravis allowed him to guide her, anticipating what would happen, but the farther and faster they went, the hotter she became and the dizzier she was. Groaning feverishly, she allowed herself to misplace a step and she slipped on the slope, splashing into the mud.

"Come on, Aravis," Reks breathed, kneeling down to help her back up. "Almost at the bottom. Just come with me to the bottom, okay? And then I promise you can stop running."

Despite his words, running was the last thing Aravis wanted to do—even if she could stop at the bottom of the hill. However, she let him drag her along, moving her legs and her feet and hoping she wouldn't step in the wrong place or on the wrong thing. Finally, there was a crack in the air and Reks shouted something at her—something she couldn't quite hear.

All she knew was they had hit the ground and were tumbling down the slope, rolling and rolling and confusing her ever-dizzy head. But when she could manage to glance up at the fortress—when she was able to make out what she was seeing—she saw that guards had given up chase, and that the two of them were momentarily safe as they rolled into a tall patch of weeds and wild, untended grasses.

Aravis had rolled to a stop on her side, her hands serving as a pillow beneath her head. Reks was on his back, his limbs fanned out as he breathed heavily, a smile on his face. "We're out!" he panted. "I can't believe after all of that…we're out…" He turned his head towards Aravis, who was watching him with half-lidded eyes. "Oh God…Aravis…"

Tears were streaming down the princess's face—so heavily that they were distinguishable from the still-pouring rain. Her cheeks were flushed and her body was trembling ever so slightly. Sporadically, she was raked by a tremendous convulsion, drawing a frown from Reks. "There's no way we can try to get back to Rabanastre with you like this…" he murmured, rolling onto his side and inching closer to her. She was murmuring incoherent nothings to herself—to him maybe, but he couldn't understand any of it.

Sliding his cloak off over his head, he revealed a matted, torn shirt of worn cotton. It plastered to his skin quickly at the mere brush of the rain. Helping Aravis into an upright position, he slid the cloak over her clothes and sat her between his legs. "Shh…shh…" he coaxed her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and burying his face into the crook of her neck. "This is real… It's all real. You're…ill, Aravis, but that can be fixed. I'll get you better soon. For now, just…sleep."

* * *

"You…let her escape?" An ominous silhouette was cast across the wall, the firelight illuminating the stone a pale orange. It flickered and the shadow held up a silencing hand while the man at his feet shrunk to match the size of his confidence. "I pray for your sake that you are mistaken. Search the dead again. Turn the scaffold upside-down. I don't care what you do—just as long as you find her body. If her corpse is not amongst that lifeless filth…you'd best hope she's dead somewhere inside the fortress."

"Y-yes, sir…" stuttered the meeker shadow, stumbling away until the fire's light no longer could reflect off of his trembling body.

As quickly as the messenger had left, a new shadow came into focus. "Sir…shall we send out a search party?" rumbled a deep, course voice. His silhouette was thick—muscled. Noah fon Ronsenburg stood aloof before his "sir."

Rolling his shoulders, Vayne slumped back in his throne, tilting his head back and inhaling very slowly. The anger was evident in the way his cheeks colored a bright pink. "Please, do so," he confirmed, closing his eyes as his face turned to the ceiling. "And see to it that every village is checked. Especially…" he paused. "Good old Rabanastre."

* * *

The sun rose in the East when Reks awoke, feeling awfully uncomfortable soaked to the bone as he was. He lay in a field of tall grass and weeds, irritating his skin whenever they brushed up against it. He scowled, sitting up and feeling mud seep between his fingers. Before he could curse, he heard Aravis' slight groan and he stiffened, remembering everything that had happened.

It had all been so fantastical—so surreal. He had almost thought it was a dream, or a nightmare—whichever. But he shook his head. No, if Aravis was there, it couldn't be a nightmare. It was either a dream or heaven. But it was neither. It was _real_. He was _alive_.

Reks leaned over Aravis, seeing her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Her lips were parted slightly, and she breathed uneasily. He frowned, resting his hand against her forehead and feeling the tremendous heat she emitted. "Fever," he muttered, knowing that she wouldn't do well to stay out much longer. She needed to get home. Shaking her gently, he waited until her eyelashes fluttered and her eyes opened very slowly.

"Reks…?" she whispered, as if to confirm it was really him.

He smiled weakly, grasping her hand in his. Even her fingers were so warm. "Yeah, it's me." She smiled up at him as her hand began to tremble, and it took Reks a moment to realize that it wasn't just her hand. It was her entire body. "Aravis…come on. Let's get going, okay? We need to get you some medical attention."

The princess frowned, whimpering in pain as Reks sat her upright. "It hurts…" she groaned, bringing a hand to clutch her aching head. It hurt everywhere, and it was so hot…yet so cold.

"I know," Reks agreed, helping her to her feet and getting his arm around her waist. "I've got you. Just keep moving your feet, okay? I'll take care of the rest."

* * *

They had walked on for a few good miles before Reks heard the footsteps—heavy armor clacking as Imperial soldiers ran down the barren path, shouting obscenities to vent their boredom. At the sound, and the first appearance in the distance, Reks bit his tongue, diving off the side of the road to hide in the same tall desert weeds they had slept in the previous night.

Aravis, whom had been in a sort of trance since they had started out that morning, began to whimper and squirm, brought awake by the impact of the ground and the incessant shouting overhead. Reks blanched, clamping his hand over her mouth and using the other to hold her body against his. He coaxed her to quiet down, holding his breath the entire time as the guards stopped on the road, looking this way and that and conspiring about their search for the princess.

_Great,_ Reks thought. _A search party…just what we needed._

"She's not here. For all we know, she's probably in Rabanastre already. Let's keep going," one of the Imperialists muttered, and the rest quickly and silently agreed, eager to get on with their search. The faster they found Aravis, the sooner they could return to Nalbina and put this all behind them.

Somehow, Reks found himself thinking the same thing.

However, the journey would be a difficult one. If Reks thought he could go the rest of the way to Rabanastre with Aravis on his shoulder, he was a fool in denial. The best course of action would be to stop at a village along the way, find medical attention, clothes, and a place to rest.

That's precisely what they did. Aravis hadn't livened up a bit since they climbed back onto the road and continued down it, as if they had never had that close encounter with the search party. But this time, Reks had taken extra measures to make sure that it wouldn't happen again, staying closer to the side of the road, rather than walking straight down the middle.

Surely enough, they encountered no more Imperialists—or anyone else, for that matter—and after a good few hours of endless walking they came to a small village off side of the road. Reks' breath came out in a sigh as he sent incessant messages to his tired legs to keep moving. With salvation just ahead, he was finding it harder and harder to keep going.

Before they could even reach the front gates, they swung open and two young women rushed out to meet them…with spears. "Who goes there?!" they demanded in unison, their faces set in infuriated scowls.

Aravis stirred and Reks took a step back from the sharpened spear points aimed at his throat. "We're—"

"Silence!" the woman on the right barked, circling him slowly with the spear still aimed at his throat. "Imperialists just came through here, asking about fugitives from the Nalbina fortress. We have reason to believe that you two are said fugitives and we refuse to aid you. Go away."

Reks' brow knit and he frowned. _That was frank,_ he thought miserably, feeling insulted. "Listen, please. If you won't let us into your village at least give us something for her fever."

"And you think we would surrender medicine to fugitives? For free, at that? Take your whore elsewhere. We don't have medicine to spare for her."

Inhaling deeply, Reks felt his face heat with anger. Had they really just called her a whore? "This is Aravis Dalmasca!" he argued, hefting her up so that her head rolled onto his shoulder, heated face exposed to the two women. "How dare you compare her to a prostitute?!" Their eyes widened and they exchanged glances.

"They were right…!" they said to one another, glancing back at Aravis, then Reks. "Are you sworn to protect her?"

Reks raised a skeptical brow, torn between anger and confusion. "Yeah…something like that," he agreed, and they didn't say anything in response, just ran to open the gates for them. "The resistance is expecting you."

* * *

**Again, I'm sorry that the ending is so rushed. I was just really desperate to get up this upload and ran out of patience to work in details. That's why the guard scene is so cliche. Anyway, despite all of my impatience, I hope the chapter was still enjoyable for you. Thanks for reading, and I'd appreciate a review.**


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